


Lawfully Wedded

by A_Diamond



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Breeches and Banter, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, M/M, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 12:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: Bucky isn’t thrilled to be married to a Grant because of a legal ruling, but he’s determined to uphold his vows and keep his family from losing the disputed land that is rightly theirs. Just to be sure, he plans to go out of his way to be the most attentive and caring husband Steven could ask for, whether Steven wants him or not.





	Lawfully Wedded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [velvetjinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/gifts).



> Thanks first and foremost to velvetjinx for the art prompt that inspired this story! Please go leave love on the art post [here](https://velvetjinx.tumblr.com/post/186030158562/here-is-my-art-for-the-amazing-capreversebb-fic) (not spoilery at all!) and masterpost to follow shortly.
> 
> And also to superhoney, who doesn’t even go here, for jumping in as my beta anyway. <3

The coach was silent as it carried them away from the church, save for the rattle of uneven cobblestones beneath them. The moment they’d entered the carriage, Bucky’s new husband had turned his head to the window and commenced staring out it, forlorn and silent like a brooding country lord, and Bucky was content to leave him to his bitter sulking. It wasn’t as though he had any more reason to be pleased with the ceremony they’d just concluded than the Honorable Steven Grant Rogers. He spared his spouse one final measure of his attention, but Steven showed no inclination to leave off his petulance, and so Bucky looked to his own window and let the hours of passing scenery distract him from the dull enmity that was to be the rest of his life.

When they alighted at the cottage, Steven sprung out from the coach with such haste that Bucky was half surprised not to find it bursting into flames that very second. Annoyed as he was at Steven decamping like a fugitive from justice, he was significantly more irate when it became clear Steven had done so not to escape the stiflingly tense atmosphere inside the carriage but to rush around and open Bucky’s door for him.

Almost like a proper gentleman, were it not for the unflattering, flat line of his lips and the hard set of his jaw as he caught Bucky’s eyes, and further still how he immediately disregarded him. Though he stood there still, holding the door open as though Bucky were a lady with skirts to collect before he could stand, he made a point of paying heed to the driver instead, even offering a smile the likes of which Bucky had never been on the receiving end of. Not that he had given Bucky any of his smiles; nor, indeed, had Bucky smiled at Steven.

Pulling out the smile that he had been told, by two different sisters but each with equal fervor, was charming to fit a prince and terrifying as the devil himself, Bucky stepped out from the coach. If he landed on Steven’s foot, it must have been a most unfortunate and unforeseen accident. As Steven valiantly bit back what sounded like it would have been an impressive curse, Bucky sauntered past him to take in the house.

Compared to the Barnes estate, it was definitely quaint. And Grant Manor was nearly twice the size of the house Bucky had grown up in, with fewer occupants, so he expected Steven would feel constrained, maybe even claustrophobic without three different drawing rooms in which to hide while maintaining an air of social respectability. There would be no such opportunities at this cottage.

Its size owed in part to the fact that it had been built in some haste. Only six months had passed since the Magistrate handed down her ruling that required its construction, in the very same decree that had resulted in Bucky being saddled with a husband who despised him. The feeling was entirely mutual, as such things often went, but it couldn’t be helped. At least according to his father’s honor; Bucky himself still thought that Great Aunt Millicent was a fine match, and likely to outlive him and Steven both at the rate she was going.

But the Magistrate had been clear that bad faith would not be tolerated from either side, and presenting a seventy year old spinster when Bucky and three of his sisters were all of more suitable marrying age would have been akin to forfeiting the disputed land entirely. So Bucky had volunteered, having no sweetheart or vocation to sacrifice in it, and none could argue that the Barneses were failing to uphold their end with their second eldest child at the altar. If there were any insult to be found, it was the Grants sending a Rogers—but Steven was second in succession for his title, just like Bucky was, and unlike Bucky he was almost guaranteed to see that inheritance. Bucky’s place would be lost once his older sister had children of her own.

Not that he minded. He didn’t have the temperament for managing an estate or a business, and Becca was set to take over both when the time came. She was welcome to those responsibilities. All that had been expected of Bucky for the rest of his life was that he not be a complete scoundrel; that had come to include keeping his marriage vows to Steven Rogers, but it still wasn’t so much to ask of him to avoid giving the Grants any legitimate grounds to petition for divorce. In fact, he planned to follow through on pledging his life and devotion to the man with a vengeance, and his mother had always called him the worst of her stubborn family.

Bucky would be the most attentive and caring husband Steven could ask for, whether Steven wanted him or not.

⚜

The modest home still allowed them separate bedrooms, as was only proper. Even Bucky’s parents, willing spouses very much in love, kept their own rooms—though often as not they could be found together in one room or the other. Bucky and his sisters weren’t meant to know that the household staff had a daily bet on which side of the third floor their employers would end the night in, but Dernier had thoroughly let that cat out of that bag when he started conspiring with the adult Barnes children to determine the outcome. If Becca and Bucky found a reason to be conversing in the hall near their mother’s door after dinner, the couple would unfailingly land in their mother’s room and the siblings would be rewarded with extra fruit in their morning cobblers.

Bucky would not be spending his nights in his husband’s room, nor would he welcome his husband spending his nights in Bucky’s. But personal feelings about companionship aside, they were married, and certain things were expected to legitimize the marriage. Failure to consummate the marriage would give Lord Ian just the ammunition Bucky was sure he was looking for to annul the marriage and claim ownership of the marital property. Property which morally belonged to the Barneses, even if the Magistrate hadn’t enough proof to establish it legally did. Bucky would give neither Lord Ian nor his grandson the chance to claim he had refused his husband.

Two servants staffed the small house, their wages split between the two families just as the building had been: A butler, who had introduced himself as Mr. Samuel Wilson and led Steven away to be shown his bedroom and recover from the journey, and a cook by the name of Miss Natasha Romanov, who had done the same with Bucky. He smiled at her, far less pointed than the one he’d bestowed upon Steven, and set his plan into motion.

“Thank you for making our new home so welcoming. But I do think I’d like to wash off the grime of the road before anything else, and perhaps change into something more suited to a grand tour than my wedding suit.”

Bucky’s wedding outfit was made from some of the finest clothes he’d ever owned—and he’d been called a dandy by his sisters and friends more than any gentleman ought to have been expected to tolerate. He scoffed at that accusation, but he saw no shame in taking pride in his appearance and it was a better use of his allowance than gambling it away as many of his contemporaries did. He’d never paid as much for a single item as his family had for his tailcoat, and wouldn’t have chosen to on his own. His mother had insisted, however, steadfast in her belief that her son ought to look his best on his wedding day no matter the unfortunate circumstances, and in truth he did look quite a credit to the Barnes line in it.

Especially when he’d come to stand next to his husband-to-be, in the most outlandish and ostentatious brocade Bucky had ever seen. Not that he wasn’t handsome; for all his and his family’s faults, Steven at least had the gift of strikingly attractive features. But the waistcoat and jacket—well, between their looks and Steven’s, it wouldn’t be a great hardship for Bucky to undress him.

“Of course,” Miss Romanov answered at once. “I’ll draw you a bath and return shortly to show you the way.”

Had he been an unmarried man and she not been beholden to his family for her salary, Bucky might’ve winked and assured her he knew the way to bathe. Miss Romanov and Mr Wilson were both easy on the eyes and Bucky flirted as easily as he breathed. But a married man he was, and intending to stay that way unless someone else was entirely to blame, so he reserved his charms for Steven.

“I would appreciate that. Perhaps you could also point out for me my husband’s door. I should check in on him after I’m refreshed to see how he’d like to spend our first evening as newlyweds.”

If she knew the adversarial nature of their marriage—which she must have, it having been the prevailing gossip in all local social circles since the start of spring—Miss Romanov had admirable control of her features and gave no indication of it. She again said, “Of course,” and let herself out to see to Bucky’s bath.

⚜

The look on Steven’s face when he opened his door to find Bucky proved extremely gratifying; even better was the obvious effort he put into clearing the expression away as soon as he became aware of it. Bucky had dressed himself with the goal of eliciting such a reaction, or at the very least judging if one were possible, in the tightest breeches he owned, his shirt half undone and his still-damp hair hanging down to frame his bare neck. It was a state of undress that would have been inappropriate to the point of obscenity had either member of the house staff been around to see it, but it appeared Miss Romanov had taken his meaning and kept herself and Mr. Wilson well clear of the area.

“James.”

Steven had changed as well, though he was dressed for far better company than Bucky was. His shirt and jacket were much more conservative than what Bucky had last seen him in, and suited him very well indeed. Bucky let his eyes wander openly down his husband’s body, finding himself unexpectedly torn. In the long run, it would certainly be better for him and his family if Steven refused to consummate the marriage. But in a hastier and more selfish view of things, Bucky was not opposed to the notion of getting between those thighs. He’d rid Steven of that smug Grant superiority, see how many ways he could make his face twist foolishly in pleasure instead. He wanted to see if a blush would look as striking against Steven’s complexion as he suspected, and how far down he could get it to travel.

When he had completed his assessment, he reversed his traveling gaze back up to Steven’s sky-blue eyes and returned the greeting. “Steven. Husband. It’s our wedding night.”

“It’s our wedding afternoon,” Steven answered as blandly as he would disagree about the desirability of full sun or cloud cover for a casual stroll. But there was a spark of interest, of challenge, that made Bucky want to toss his neck like a stallion showing off.

He settled for leaning on the door frame, the angle just right to look up at Steven through his lashes, and smiling sweetly—with teeth. “If you require rest and dinner to assure your stamina, of course I can return later.”

He’d scored a hit; Steven’s jaw jutted out and his eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to seduce me or provoke me?” he asked at length. His bluntness delighted Bucky.

“Let’s not equivocate. If we’d had the option to settle this like our great-grandfathers, we wouldn’t be wed.”

“No; we’d both be dead and your family would still be claiming my family’s orchard as their own.”

“My family’s orchard,” Bucky corrected. “And I’m a very good shot, so don’t be sure it would turn out the same as the last time. But my point is, we’d have settled this with pistols were that still a permissible way to settle things. Instead, we’re married and neither of us fond of each other. I may not be happy about it, but I’m a man of honor; I’ll do right by my family and my vows. The fact you’ve gone through with this legally mandated farce tells me you’re of a similar mind.”

He raised his eyebrows, inviting agreement. Still frowning pensively, Steven nodded, so Bucky continued. “I don’t intend to jeopardize my family’s interests by failing to uphold my commitments to this marriage. And make no mistake, it’s the marriage I’m committed to, not you. So I don’t trust you not to take any such failings to Lord Grant to have me put out and my land taken along with my good name.”

He kept up his confident air as Steven scrutinized him, open now as Bucky had been, though it took long enough for Steven to speak that seeds of doubt began to grow in his mind.

“Well reasoned,” Steven declared finally. “I’m certainly not opposed to consummating our marriage, either morally or physically.” He took one step back, leaving the door open, then another. Then, reaching to untie his impeccable cravat, he added, “And I assure you, there’ll be no cause to be disappointed in my stamina.”

Bucky was neither a simple man nor a shallow one, but he was a man capable of giving into both base instincts; he responded to Steven’s inciting boast with an excitement that had already started making itself known at the front of his breeches by the time he followed Steven inside and closed the door.

“Have you given any thought to how you’d like to proceed?”

Bucky had, of course, but was waylaid from saying so as Steven pulled his shirt off over his head to reveal a physique that could have made Adonis himself weep from jealousy. The perfect skin over perfect muscle nearly made Bucky weep, but he had nothing to be ashamed of for his part; more, it made him long to get his hands on it, to see it shine with sweat as Steven writhed beneath him. And soon he’d have his chance—

Only Steven took his distraction as hesitation and cast a condescending look over his broad shoulder. “We can arrange things however is easiest for you. I understand some find it a daunting prospect, overwhelming even. I shouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” His tone and smile were solicitous to the point of insult and he knew exactly what he was doing by it.

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait, though Steven’s attitude made some part of him rise, regardless; it was to be closer to a duel after all, the two of them taking figurative jabs at one another to score points, and despite his intentions he found that a much more appealing proposal than even the satisfaction of Steven falling all over himself like a fool. At least it ought to be interesting.

Eyes wide, Bucky asked, “Have you had complaints of discomfort in the past? I can show you how it ought to be done. Properly, there should be no pain.”

“Please, by all means, show me.” Steven’s smile was full of teeth. “Then perhaps I can demonstrate my technique, and we can determine together if there are any complaints to be made.”

Interesting indeed; Steven was proposing they would take less-than-figurative jabs at each other. Whether his certainty he could perform after Bucky was done with him came from an overestimation of his own abilities or an underestimation of Bucky’s, proving his mistake was bound to be fun.

Wanting to give Steven the full experience of his attentions—and also wanting to give himself the full experience of his hands all over Steven—he took over the task of removing his husband’s remaining clothing. He felt Steven’s breath catch as Bucky’s hand slipped into his breeches, and Bucky watched closely enough that he was sure Steven’s stomach didn’t flex with another breath until the pants were piled on the floor next to the removed shirt.

He guided Steven to the bed, then. Steven allowed his efforts, but his expression had returned to skeptical boredom and Bucky didn’t want to lose the ground he was sure he had claimed in the undressing. He moved quickly on to his own clothing, stripping down with only a quick pause to remove the small bottle of oil from his pocket before discarding his breeches. Spilling the oil onto his palm and fingers without fuss, he stepped between Steven’s accommodatingly spread legs and hovered his hand just above Steven’s cock.

It was indeed a magnificent cock, as perfectly proportioned as the rest of Steven and less able to feign indifference. Though it proved his interest in proceeding, thick and waving up at the ceiling, Bucky considered it only gentlemanly to confirm such things. Not to mention that, based upon results up to that point, he also suspected that hearing his plans spoken aloud would heat Steven’s blood further. At the very least, it might irritate him enough to resume his verbal sparring with Bucky, and that got Bucky’s blood going enough to be worth it.

“I’d like to touch your cock now. Stroke you and find out what makes you feel good so I can keep doing that while I open you up. When you’re ready for me and it feels so nice that you’re begging for more—”

He’d gone too far. Steven tensed all over, and though it made his cock bob merrily, there was nothing cheerful in his glare. “I’ve never begged a day in my life, James. If that’s your measure of success, I can tell you now that you’ve already failed.”

To his own surprise, there was nothing insincere about Bucky’s smile; he was genuinely thrilled at the entire situation, at how Steven’s intended scorn had backfired and he didn’t even know it yet. Bucky got to break that news to him. “I would hate to fail you, Steven. I’m grateful you shared your concerns with me so that I can make this the best experience possible for you. I’m so glad that you want that, too, enough to trust me with such intimate details of your past lovers’ failures.”

Steven’s mouth opened, then closed, then twitched at the corner as he tried and failed to keep it from twisting into a smile of its own. “Yes, yes. Are you planning to actually act on any of this, or just lull me to sleep talking about it and hope my dreams can exceed your competence?”

Bucky laughed, delight and spite bubbling up in him as one as he closed the distance to take Steven in hand. As promised, he took his time, testing all the variations of speed and pressure, all the places he could rub and twist and flick; and while Steven also stayed true to his word and never once begged, he’d also given up his disinterest early on. Bucky took pride enough in breaking down that facade through his patient, attentive, and skillful work that he didn’t feel the need to break Steven entirely. Yet.

When Bucky took his hand away to retrieve the oil, he didn’t miss Steven’s grunt of displeasure, quiet though it was. He wouldn’t allow Steven to think he’d missed it, either.

“I’ll be back momentarily, don’t fret,” he soothed, sweet and sharp. Steven grumbled, at himself or at Bucky or both, but made no other objections as Bucky said, “You seem so eager, I don’t want to keep you waiting any longer. We just need a bit more oil for my other hand so I can—”

“Keep chattering and I may wilt,” Steven interrupted, scathing. “You weren’t doing abysmally when you were actually doing something, I suggest you try more of that.”

Were Bucky a gambling man, he’d have bet the cost of his wedding jacket that Steven was trying to raise his ire to make him careless. Steven had expected tedium until it was his turn to take Bucky and, finding his assumptions overthrown by desire, he was trying to goad Bucky into making it less enjoyable. He would be disappointed again—but also, in another sense, very decidedly not disappointed.

So he took just as much care toying with Steven’s ass as he had his cock, taking turns between them, working them both at once, touching and teasing until he had a finger sunk deep into Steven. It felt good in there, heat and slickness that would be so sweet around his cock, and when he pulled at Steven’s cock just so he could feel the clench of his muscular buttocks from within.

With a second finger he found the place that made Steven jerk his hips off the bed and curse, and by then he appreciated the color on Steven’s cheeks and neck, the sweat on his temple and chest enough to forgo taunting him for it. Making Steven more aware of his reactions would have run contrary to Bucky’s mission to make him lose himself further. He was half tempted, or more, to bring Steve off just like that. But they had agreed on the terms of their consummation and he could not justify violating that.

So he checked with Steven, heard an affirmation amidst the impatient swearing, and bid that spot a temporary farewell with his circling fingertips before he withdrew both hands from their contact with Steven’s body. He could barely stand it for long enough to oil his cock, which had been so long ignored it threatened to embarrass him with his own hands. He clenched down on that surge, letting go of himself as though the fire he felt were real.

Steven was watching, saw Bucky’s tenuous control, and something lit in his eyes beyond the hazy pleasure Bucky had put there with such intent dedication. He couldn’t have that, so he moved back into place between Steven’s legs and pressed into him. The slow, firm slide dragged groans from both of them, washing away whatever witty remark Steven had been contemplating. There was still more thought apparent on his face than Bucky liked, so he set about erasing it with his hips and hands. It never quite went away, even as Bucky felt his own mind melting deeper into the feel of Steven’s body around his cock, but at least nothing left his mouth save for the occasional noise of surprised pleasure.

On the whole, his plan was going well. He was fucking Steven, which was reward in itself, and doing it so well that Steven couldn’t pretend otherwise no matter how much he may have wanted to. Every moan was sweeter for the line that furrowed between Steven’s brows after it, the way his jaw clenched as though trying to stop any more from following. It made him glad that, in his haste to enter, he’d forgotten his desire to see the broad stretch of Steven’s back arching beneath him; watching the man’s face was a far more rewarding use of his time.

But he was close to his completion and starting to worry he’d reach it before Steven. Though in truth Bucky was quite certain he’d enjoy having Steven inside him just as much as he was enjoying the reverse, he was certain he would enjoy even more foiling Steven’s plan by overwhelming his desire. There would be opportunity for the other way of things, after a suitable time for recovery and a certain amount of gloating. He knew better already than to think that Steven would permit him the stroking and fondling that Bucky had found most effective, and in fairness even Bucky would have called that a dirty trick. But were he able to coax it out of Steven honestly, he could bask in his victory with a clean conscience.

He should not have concerned himself with fair play, as he got none in return. The very instant he deepened his thrusts to focus their aim where Steven would most appreciate it, Steven clenched around him with the loudest cry yet, and his hand came off the sheets to tangle and pull desperately at Bucky’s hair. Wringing such a reaction from him would have been a proud moment, but it wasn’t yet enough to drive him over the edge.

Bucky, in contrast, lost himself to it.

Forcing his eyes open, he first concentrated on extracting himself from Steven with as much grace as possible under the circumstances. Only then did he feel brave enough to look back up to Steven’s face; to his surprise and great relief, Steven looked nearly as stupefied as Bucky felt and it took him several long moments before he admitted, grudging but sincere, broken by shuddering breaths, “That was—adequate. A… most respectable effort. I have no complaints to offer you on your performance as a husband.”

Bucky felt half drunk grinning down at him, relaxed and euphoric enough from his climax that he didn’t even need to flaunt his success further. “I could improve it yet,” he offered, waving a suggestive hand at Steven’s attentive cock.

Steven’s own smile grew at that, a sharpness that made Bucky wary and excited all at once. “A considerate offer, but I’ve other plans for this.” And yet, when Bucky nodded and reached an only slightly shaky arm for the oil—fatigue, not fear—Steven stopped him and asked, “Have you ever had a tongue up your asshole?”

⚜

Though Miss Romanov and Mr. Wilson were surely abed, long after they’d missed supper and night had fallen, Bucky tried his best to make his rumpled clothes presentable before slinking out of Steven’s bedroom and back to his own.

⚜

The next evening, after a day spent assessing the state of the orchard and the fencing—along both sides, and no longer in danger of being torn down by either neighbor—followed by a near-silent dinner shared with Steven, he retired to his own room and pointedly refused to consider any other possibilities. The hours spent with Steven had certainly been enjoyable, and if they were to remain married the experience was bound to be repeated, but to solicit it two nights in a row would make him a desperate harlot rather than a responsible husband.

He was about to pull on his sleep shirt when a knock sounded at his door. He knew at once; no one else in the house would be so bold and confident in their knocks, would manage to make three sharp raps a demand for admittance rather than a request for attention. For the briefest moment, he considered ignoring it and going to sleep as he’d intended. Then he discarded that idea along with his shirt.

Steven looked halfway surprised that Bucky opened the door at all, then another half when he took in Bucky’s state of undress. It morphed into indignation as Bucky muttered, “You desperate harlot,” but then Bucky was pulling him inside by his shirt and pulling it out of his breeches at the same time, and he had no complaints after that.

⚜

Miss Romanov was kind enough to bring breakfast to Bucky’s rooms a fortnight later, after he’d excused himself from coming down due to chills and a cough. She was also kind enough to wait for him to finish chewing the first mouthful of sweet dough before saying, “If you want Mr. Wilson to believe your illness, you’d better put something around your neck and try not to wince at sitting when he comes up to check on you. Or you could tell him you’ve been mauled by a bear, I suppose.”

⚜

“My grandfather is hosting a dinner Tuesday,” Steven told him on a Saturday evening. “It will be a small affair, just for my cousin and his friend visiting from the city, but our attendance is requested.”

“Requested,” Bucky repeated. His voice was muffled by the pillow he had shoved his face into in an attempt to smother his noises—mostly to deprive Steven the satisfaction of hearing them, as they’d sent the staff away for the weekend—so he turned his head. “Requested or commanded, and our attendance or your attendance?”

“Yes.”

Bucky’s huff of exasperation turned into a moan as Steven dragged out of him slowly and then thrust back in with the force of a thoroughbred on a straightaway. He might’ve liked to argue further, either about his presence at the dinner or Steven’s choice of timing in bringing it up, but it wasn’t worth interrupting what they were doing. He buried himself back in the pillow, let Steven do all the work of wringing his pleasure out of him, and resigned himself to the price of meeting the man’s family in exchange.

⚜

Lord Grant, for all that he’d demanded Steven and Bucky show up for his small family dinner, ignored the both of them the entire night, except to tell Steven that his mother was feeling poorly and would not be joining them. The rest of the evening he spent slurping his food and conversing with one of his guests, a Mr. Jack Rollins, about business in the city. Steven’s cousin, Mr. Brock Rumlow, snubbed Steven as well.

Bucky was not so lucky.

“Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Rumlow said yet again, drawing the name out in a way that his sly face indicated he thought was charming, “we’ve heard much of the circumstances of your wedding, of course. It’s so tragically noble of you to have sacrificed your future so that your sisters could be free to marry as they pleased. I tell you, there are not many men who would do the same.”

Across the table, he could see Steven’s jaw tighten before he forcibly relaxed it to take an overly vicious forkful of greens.

“An interesting point,” Bucky said, his voice light despite the uncertainty souring the fine broth in his stomach. He didn’t know what game was being played, only that he didn’t much care for it; it had none of the fun of his volleys with Steven, but rather a darker, more menacing point. He only couldn’t tell at whom that dagger-tip was aimed. “Particularly interesting given that I believe your cousin, my husband, is just such a man. Did he not make that same choice?”

Steven’s head twitched up to stare at him, but before Bucky could meet his eyes and gauge his reaction, Mr. Rumlow laughed and hit the table with his palm. The cutlery rattled with his exaggerated mirth.

“I thought you knew, Mr. Barnes! It wasn’t Steven’s decision; he’s not nearly so selfless as that. This was just the least he owed our family. You know about his father, don’t you? What he did to my poor Aunt Sarah.”

What Bucky knew was this: Years and years before, a young Miss Sarah Grant had fallen in love with a landless, penniless soldier by the name of Joseph Rogers, and had defied her father to marry him. Bucky had been a child himself when the widowed Mrs. Rogers and her young son returned to Grant Manor. At the time, it had been as widely gossiped about as Bucky’s situation was now.

What Bucky said was this: “Whatever it is you mean, Mr. Rumlow, I have no idea. Further, I hardly think this is the time or place to say it.”

Mr. Rumlow made a vague apology and let it drop, and Steven’s shoulders relaxed a solid inch, and Bucky wrote it off as dismissed from everyone’s minds. And yet, when dinner had concluded and Steven excused himself upstairs to check on his mother’s health, Bucky found himself cornered in a small sitting room that was certainly not the same one Lord Grant and Mr. Rollins had retired to.

Mr. Rumlow had two propositions for him, as it turned out; Bucky answered them both with the judicious placement of a single knee.

When he left the drawing room, closing the door to allow Mr. Rumlow to recover his dignity in private, he found Steven awaiting him. The dark look on his face said he had seen Bucky disappear with another man and had reached his own conclusions about the circumstances. He looked ready to drag Bucky home and have it out, but no manhandling came. Instead, jaw clenched, he spun on his heel and strode to the balcony doors without looking back, as though he had reason to be confident Bucky would follow.

Bucky followed.

Cool air hit him as he stepped out into the evening. In the same moment, he found himself seized by the arms, dragged into a wall of climbing vines just out of sight of the doors. Steven’s furious face filled his vision for only a moment, then dropped away as Steven dropped to his knees and nearly ripped Bucky’s breeches in the undoing of them.

“Did my cousin entertain you well?” Steven sneered. Despite his rage, his hand did no great harm when it wrapped around Bucky to tug his claim. “Perhaps not, if you’ve still this for me.”

“Your cousin,” Bucky started, then stopped for several moments as Steven did something exceedingly clever with his tongue at the crown of Bucky’s cock. “Your cousin is a lewd villain who wants you dead so that he can claim your title and fuck your husband.”

Steven’s mouth fell off him then, which was nothing short of a tragedy, but Bucky was a Barnes and the Barneses were a resourceful bunch to be sure. He took the opportunity to haul Steven up and reverse their positions against the wall—Steven’s back hit the trellis hard enough that some of the old wood cracked and leaves scattered down upon their heads—and made quick work of the buttons of Steven’s fall front as he remained stunned by the betrayal. Not so stunned that there was nothing to meet Bucky’s hand when he pushed it into the open front of Steven’s breeches, however.

Steven’s wits recovered with admirable speed, too, even as he filled and twitched to Bucky’s touch. “What? If this is a jest, or some scheme to cause strife within my family—”

“It’s not,” Bucky swore. He pressed his cheek to Steven’s, his mouth as intimate to Steven’s ear as his hand was to Steven’s cock. “You may not be my choice of husband, but my husband you are. I will not betray you. I may kill you,”—he set his teeth to Steven’s neck, meaning it to be some manner of threat, but Steven laughed softly and it sent a vibration through him that shivered right down to his cock, which wished to remind him of its neglect—“but I’ll do it with my own two hands when you vex me. Not in a coward’s conspiracy with your conniving kin.”

Steven let loose a shiver of his own then, which shook through Bucky in a different but equally pleasing way. “James Barnes,” he said, his breathlessness as great a compliment as Bucky had ever received, “do you fancy yourself a poet?”

“I think the better question is this: Steven Rogers, my hesitant husband, do you fancy me as a poet?” Bucky didn’t give him a chance to answer, nipping at the shell of Steven’s ear and the sensitive place where it met his neck to keep him quiet. He felt gooseflesh ripple beneath his lips; he could not have asked for a more perfect invitation to begin his recitation. “ _Those set our hairs, but these_ ”—he ran a finger along the underside of Steven’s cock and it bobbed attentively—“ _our flesh upright. Licence my roving hands, and let them go, before, behind, between, above, below._ ” And rove his hands did, over every bit of skin bared to him, all along the delicate, swollen flesh of Steven’s cock, though the coarse hair at its base, groping at his nuts and pushing at the seams of his breeches to reach beneath. “ _O my America! My_ —”

He would have kept going, but that Steven’s hand closed hard over his mouth and Steven’s seed spilled wild onto his jacket sleeve. Bucky watched his eyes slip closed, his mouth slip open, the rawness shatter across his face as he breathed, “Please. James, please.”

An impulse he never would have expected flushed over him, and he could do nothing but give into it as Steven had given into him so freely. He gently pulled Steven’s hand from his mouth, intertwining their fingers as he did, and leaned in to kiss his husband for the first time.

“Bucky,” he said. “Call me Bucky, and know that I am yours. Trust me, Steven—”

“Steve.” It was another breath, barely a world, a distracted aside as Steven—Steve—stared wonderingly into his eyes.

Bucky laughed and kissed him again, lingering. “Steve. We’ve made our public vows already, and I swore to you I would stand by them, but this—this is just for us. You are stubborn and maddening and arrogant, and I’ve wanted to slap you every day since we were wed and only wanted to kiss you tonight. You have, entirely against my own will, by the combined powers of your spitfire personality and your magnificent cock, forced me to be more than passingly fond of you. I want to be your husband in more than name, out of more than just a lawful obligation. Will you be mine as well?”

“Christ,” Steve chuckled, still a bit breathless. “You do know how to woo a gentleman. Yes, let us abandon this farce of a marriage and be as real husbands to one another. Or, at the least, give it our best attempt until I irk you enough to kill me.”

Pressing a kiss to the faint impression of teeth on Steve’s neck, then two more in a line above it just because he could, Bucky said, “I think we can forgo the murder. Unless you want me to kill your cousin; I still have friends among my parents’ staff who would help us be rid of the body without questions.”

Gently, Steve extracted himself and gingerly tucked first his own cock and then Bucky’s into their respective breeches. Between the earnest conversation and the chill of the evening, Bucky had gone mostly limp, though there was a valiant effort to rise again at Steve’s touch. It would have been short-lived, if Steve hadn’t then leaned in again and whispered in his ear, “It seems to me that new vows require new consummation. Take me home, husband, and do this properly.”


End file.
